Download Of Shakespeare and Kalidasa

TALKING THEATRE
Indira Parthasarathy, renowned author of plays, short stories and novels in Tamil, and recipient
of the Padma Shri, writes on plays, playwrights and theatre-related issues in this
bimonthly column
Of Shakespeare and Kalidasa
I
t was only in 1789, when Sir
William Jones published an
English translation of Kalidasa’s
Abhijnanasakuntala,
under
the
title The Recognition of Sakuntala,
that the outstanding German poet
and playwright Goethe (17491832), influenced and inspired by
this celebrated Sanskrit play, wrote
his first scene in Faust, a fact he
duly acknowledged. Speaking of
Kalidasa’s genius, Goethe wrote:
‘Wouldst thou the young year’s blossoms
and fruits of its decline
And all by which the soul is charmed,
enraptured and fed?
Wouldst thou the earth and heaven itself
in one sole combine
I name thee, O Sakuntala, and all at
once is said.’
There is no evidence to show
that Europe was acquainted with
Sanskrit or plays written in
Sanskrit before the 18th century.
But, while reading Shakespeare,
it comes to us as a revelation
that there is much in common
to
the
theatre
techniques
found in his plays and ancient
Sanskrit theatre.
In the Indian theatrical heritage as well
as in Shakespeare’s plays, there was
a vibrant, collaborative partnership
between the spectators and the
performers. As the latter ventured to
paint the scenes through words and
Kalidasa and Shakespeare
gestures, the former visualised them
through the eyes of their imagination,
helping a dynamic progress of
dramatic action on the stage in the
background of multiple scene-setting
that materialised at one and the
same time.
Word and action constitute an
intrinsic part of Sanskrit theatre
as well as Shakespeare plays. It is
very difficult to separate one from
the other. In their well-integrated
togetherness, they project before
our mind’s eye a canvas of visual
pictures. This can be illustrated by
comparing one scene from Sudraka’s
Mricchakatika with one from
Shakespeare’s King Lear.
In Mricchakatika, Mathura, a game
stall-keeper and a gambler chase
Samvahaka, a masseur.
The masseur enters the stage, hurriedly
pushing the curtain aside.
Samvahaka: Mathura and the
gambler are looking for me elsewhere.
Let me walk backwards to enter the
deserted icon-less temple and impersonate
the god.
The stage direction following the
words requires a series of pantomime
movements.
The two pursuers enter the stage a
little later. They look around and their
attention is focused on the footprints.
They already know that there is no
idol in the temple and look at each
other wondering who could have
gone to the temple. No dialogue, just
gestures.
Their surprise on finding the
footprints in the reverse direction
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TALKING THEATRE
is
evident
on
their
faces.
Following the footprints, they enter
the temple.
They are shocked by the presence
of an icon. Samvahaka stands
motionless like a statue. Mathura
and the gamester go around him in
pantomime movements examining
him carefully. Samvahaka stands
frozen and although, they know it
is not a statue, they pretend to play
his game.
the machinations of his illegitimate
son Edmund. The repentant Gloster
is unaware that Edgar is the son,
whom he has disowned. Edgar
feigns lunacy and Gloster takes him
for a madman. There are two actors
on the stage, one playing a blind man
and the other a lunatic. They walk
together.
It is a bare stage.
Gloster: When shall I come to the top of
that same hill?
Mathura: Is this made of wood?
Gambler: No, it is made of stone.
Edgar: You do climb up it now; look,
how we labour.
They shake him but he continues to
stand frozen.
Edgar
Mathura: Let it be. Let us play dice.
They start gambling to tempt him.
With great mental resolution,
Samvahaka stands unmoved but
gradually he is unable to overcome
his weakness. He joins them and
they immediately catch hold of
him to demand the money he
owes them.
This scene reads like an occurrence
in
modern
absurdist
theatre.
Dialogue, movements and gestures
are all acted in a stylistic fashion
to heighten the drama.
In Shakespeare’s King Lear, Gloster
wants to throw himself over the cliffs
of Dover into the sea after his eyes
have been gouged out. In Sanskrit
theatre and in Shakespeare’s plays,
geography never seems to be a big
deal. The characters can transcend
the sea or mountain by their sheer
body language and expansive gestures
which stand out more eloquent than
the electronic stage tricks of the
modern era.
Gloster is led by his son Edgar,
whom he has earlier cut off due to
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breathes
heavily.
Gloster: Methinks, the ground is even.
Edgar: Horrible steep!
Hark, do you hear the sea?
Gloster: No, truly.
As in Sudraka’s play, the text itself
provides the stage directions.
Gloster walks leaning on Edgar for
support and the latter lifts his feet
high, pretending to walk uphill.
Gloster also lifts his feet to
climb the hill. It is the sum and
substance of pantomime theatre.
Gloster and Edgar
It makes sense if the whole scene
is enacted on a flat and level stage.
Edgar, as one feigning madness, must
adopt the right gestures. A madman
leads a blind man and talks him
into believing in a non-existent cliff.
Soon follows another landscape. As
in Sanskrit theatre, geography is
sketched through word-painting and
appropriate gestures in Shakespeare’s
plays. A few words, and the diffused,
soft afternoon light at the Globe
changes into night, evening or
morning.
The landscape is now just a score for
the pantomime. Gloster and
Edgar have reached the top of
the hill. Appropriate elaborate
dramatic gestures by Edgar are
reflexively replicated by his father.
The landscape is now below them.
Edgar: Give me your hand – you are
now within a foot
Of the extreme verge; for all beneath the
moon
Would I not leap upright!
Gloster jumps and feels convinced
that he has reached the bottom of
the cliff. The miming reaches the
climax.
Gloster: But have I fall’n, or no?
Edgar: From the dread summit of this
chalky bourn,
Look up a-height - the shrill-gorg’d lark
so far
Cannot be seen or heard, do but look up!
The miming creates a scenic area,
the top and bottom of the cliff,
the precipice. The spectators also
participate in this grand vision and a
most realistic and concrete landscape
created by making use of all the means
of anti-illusionist theatre!
TALKING THEATRE
COURTESY: NANDINI RAMANI
Dushyanta and the charioteer in a scene from Sakuntalam
presented by Samskrita Ranga (1986)
The scene of the suicidal leap is a
mime. Mime is a performance of
symbols.
through skilful pantomime movements and remarkable wordpainting.
In Sakuntala, the opening scene
starts with a hermit grove and
Dushyanta, the king is hotly
pursuing a gazelle on a chariot. The
poor animal is desperately running
for its dear life almost flying in the air.
As soon as the king’s chariot reaches
a rugged ground, the charioteer
slows down and the animal goes
out of sight. A little later, as they
reach a smooth surface, the horses
in the chariot gallop fast ‘as the
green steeds of Indra’.
‘Because of the hectic speed of the chariot,
that which is minute in appearance
acquires magnitude; that which is
cut in the middle appears, as it were
joined; that, which by nature is crooked
appears straight to the eyes, nothing is
distant from me for a moment nor near
me,’ goes Dushyanta’s commentary,
coupled with exquisite acting.
They get the gazelle within bowshot.
The whole action takes place on an
empty stage enacted by two actors
(Dushyanta and the charioteer)
The bare stage is now filled with trees
and galloping horses, a gazelle is on
its fastest course and the forest scenes
appear and disappear one after the
other. The literary word becomes a
dramatic word to smoothly fill in the
role of a delightful scenic ambience
that holds a visual conversation with
the spectators without the interference
of physical sets.
„
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